


Mine

by calamityqueen



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Disassociation event, F/M, Fluff, Harassment, Light Angst, Sexual Harassment, Smut, Wolffe marry me, filthy use of mando'a, marking kink, mentions of battle, mentions of wounds, possessive! Wolffe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamityqueen/pseuds/calamityqueen
Summary: When a patient gets a bit too handsy, your commander comes in to save the day. (Previously posted on tumblr on my writeblr, and published on my Wattpad)
Relationships: CC-3636 | Wolffe/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	Mine

“Are you an angel? Because your beauty is heavenly,” The rebel slurred, his eyes racking over your body. You huff out a chuckle, both laughing at the cheesy pick-up line, and trying to mask your discomfort as you spread bacta gel on the young man’s gaping shoulder wound—a result of getting knocked back into the rocky Onderonian hillside during a battle with the seperatists. As a medic with the 104th, you were accustomed to tending to wounded civilians during relief missions. However, you were not accustomed to flirts who couldn’t take a hint. 

He’s been at it ever since he regained consciousness, and it was wearing on your anxiety. You wouldn’t say you’re meek, no, you could scold Boost and Sinker for not showing up to their mandatory physicals in front of the rest of the pack, much to the two troopers’ chagrin. But, when it came to those whom you weren’t familiar with, unwanted advances, and life-or-death situations, your insides couldn’t help but painfully twist and scream at you to run away. 

“What? I’m serious babe, you’re gorgeous,” you notice the way he subtly bites his lip as his eyes continue to appraise your form, “Say, why don’t you come back home with me after you finish up here?” 

“No thank you,” you reply almost coldly, turning away from him to wash your hands of the bacta gel. You turn your gaze outside of your tent; longing for a certain commander, who was out with General Plo and the majority of the pack looking for the missing.

“Aw, come on baby,” he practically whines, grabbing your wrist as you walk by him to get the bandages, “I promise I’ll show you a good time, a pretty girl like you deserves a good fucking,”

You try to yank your arm away from the man, but his grip is firm, jerking you closer to the stretcher he was laying on, and fear begins to settle in your stomach. 

Luckily, the force was on your side, and the Maker heard your prayer. 

“Hey,” a familiar gruff voice calls into the tent, and you almost sob in relief.

Wolffe was standing at the tent’s entrance, his arms crossed, helmet at his feet, eyes glaring at the bastard on the stretcher, looking as if he could pounce on the man.

The patient was stunned enough by Wolffe’s intrusion that you were able to yank your wrist out of his grip. You rush over to Wolffe, almost tripping on a loose med kit, and the commander pulls you into his arms. 

“How did everything go?” you ask as if you weren’t shaking in his embrace, still spooked from the thoughts of what could’ve possibly transpired had he not come to your tent, and Wolffe offers you a small, comforting, smile. 

“Everything went fine,” he murmured, nudging his forehead to yours in a Keldabe Kiss, and he made a show of sliding his arms around your waist, fingers gently resting on your ass, “Our other medics are tending to our latest group of survivors. The General sent me to tell you to take a break–you deserve it, cyare.” 

You make quick work of wrapping up your patients’ wound, just wanting to get out of there as fast as possible. Your patient was silent as you hastily tended him, likely due to Wolffe’s intimidating glare as he watched you tend to the man– making sure the flirt didn’t try anything else. For a split second you thought you heard him growling. 

You and Wolffe exited your med tent together, and he glanced at you in concern. You were staring out into nothing with a glazed over expression, eyes glossy with unshed tears that you didn’t realize were there. If this was the first time you had a disassociation event around Wolffe, he might’ve panicked himself; but he’s helped you through these events even before you admitted your feelings for each other. 

He gently took your hand, rubbing soft, soothing circles into your skin, leading you to his personal tent, guiding you to sit on the firm sleeping mat before sitting down himself. It was then when you burst, burying yourself in Wolffe’s armor-covered chest, clutching him as if you’d float away if you didn’t, as the tears that were held captive were finally freed.Wolffe held you just as tight, running a hand up and down your back, another gently squeezing your hip in comfort. He pressed kisses into your forehead and whispered reassurances into your hair. 

“You’re okay, Y/N,”

“I’m here, ad’ika, I’ve got you,” 

“No one’s gonna hurt you, not while I’m here,”

Your tears stilled eventually, and the two of you sat in silence, holding each other tight. No one could interrupt you at this moment. The kriffing war could end and neither of you would move.

Finally, you moved your head from Wolffe’s chest, moving your hands to cup his face, fingers lightly tracing over his cheekbones.

“I love you, Wolffe,” you whispered before pressing your forehead to his. 

“I love you too, Y/n,” Wolffe replied just as quietly, gently moving his lips to capture yours. 

You reciprocate immediately, the kiss soft, adoring. But soon, the sweetness was replaced by burning need, as Wolffe slipped his tongue into your mouth, tangling it with your own. His hands moved you onto his lap, pushing you impossibly closer to him. You soon parted for air, and Wolffe turned his attention to your jaw and neck, gently nipping and pressing kisses to the exposed skin. 

“We don’t have to-”

“Please Wolffe,” you interrupted pleadingly, “I need you, please.” 

A low growl emanated from the commander, grabbing at your flesh possessively, his nips at your neck gaining a bit of a harsher edge,

“Anything for my nau’ika,” he murmured, gently biting your ear as he gently lays you on your back.

Though one might not have known from just looking at him, Wolffe was an attentive lover, kissing and knipping love bites on every piece of skin that was revealed to him as he carefully removed your clothes, running his large hands across your body in such a way that chills ran up your spine. When his hand made contact with your dripping center, Wolffe let out a wrecked groan, cursing in mando’a as he circled a finger around your clit. You whimpered, moving your hands to his broad shoulders. 

“What is it, cyar’ika? Tell me what you want, love,” Wolffe sighed into your ear, nuzzling into your neck, leaving more hickeys, and you whined as you felt his dick twitch as he pulled back to admire his work. 

“Wolffe, please,” you moaned, almost a bit too loud, as his finger that was on your clit slid into your aching heat, “Ner kotir verd,” you gasped as he hooked his fingers inside you, a low growl emanating from his chest, his eyes–both mechanical and real–were focused solely on your pleasure-heated face, “Take me, I need you, ah, please.”

Wolffe snapped, the tenderness of earlier moments replaced by feral passion as he lined himself with your entrance and slid in with one fluid thrust. You quickly slapped a hand over your mouth to cover your cries of pleasure. 

“That bastard really thought he could take you from me,” Wolffe growled out as he slammed into you, “Thought he was even near worthy to have you, a goddess.” 

His pace was punishing, and it took all of your strength to keep from screaming in pure ecstasy. 

“But he can’t have you–haran–he’ll never have you. No one else will. You’re my good little cyar’ika, aren’t you Y/n?” 

Despite the harshness of his pace, hips pistoning him in and out rapidly, his features were relaxed, and the way he looked down at you made your heart clench in his chest.

He was doubting himself. 

Though he never expressed it verbally, (he didn’t with a lot of things,) you could tell that he was scared at the thought of you leaving him; especially for a civilian. 

He had already helped you today, now it was your turn to help him.

You pulled him down to you, pressing your forehead to his, forcing eye contact.

“I’m yours, Wolffe, yours and yours alone,” you assured him, immediately before pressing your lips to his to stifle your noises. 

Wolffe grabbed you possessively, growls and snarls of pleasure emanating from his mouth as it locked with yours, his body completely encompassing and dominating yours. 

Your walls clenched around him and you whimpered, signaling your impending orgasm. 

“That’s it, good girl, my good girl. Cum for me, mesh’la,” he groaned into your mouth, and you let out a muffled shriek of his name as you came around him, walls contracting as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. 

“Good fucking girl, fuck,” he groaned moving to nestle his face and the juncture of your neck and shoulder, biting more marks into your skin and laving over it with his tounge, his hips stuttering. 

He cursed in mando’a, before he stilled his thrusts and filling you with his release, letting out a low, guttural groan of your name, followed by another word that made your heart stutter and your walls clench around him:

“Pal’vut.”

Mine.


End file.
